


Mischief

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: A Cave For a Tower [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Highlander, Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's called many things by different people. Mischief. Friend. Legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mischief

Balthazar usually just gets carry out, rather than going out for food, but he's been holed up in Arcana Cabana for the last several days dealing with customers and inventories and paperwork, and it's time to get out. He doesn't think he's going to end up with the Prime Merlinian coming to him today, anyway.

He even more rarely goes into someplace that has a bar. Following his instincts instead of just falling into routine has had good results sometimes, and he's almost glad he's walked into the pub he has. Almost, because the expression on Methos' face is one that worries him as he approaches the Immortal's table.

"Mind if I join you?" Not that he's going to take no for an answer, pulling out a chair from the table, and sitting down.

"Yes," Methos says flatly. He'd have hooked his foot around the chair if he'd thought it would do any good. "If I'd wanted company, I wouldn't be sitting here alone." It's been several centuries since he last set eyes on Balthazar, and he's had more than his fill of unexpected reunions this month. That he's switched from beer to whiskey should be enough of a warning to keep anyone familiar with his habits at a distance.

"Too bad." Balthazar shrugs, slouching in the chair a bit, and ordering a coke and a sandwich when the waitress comes over. "You looked like you could use the company." Before he did something that would make Balthazar wish he could shut Methos into an urn or something for a few years. Or a few centuries. For the safety of everyone else. There was something far too frightening for comfort about Methos, and right now, it was closer to the surface than it had been the last time Balthazar had met him.

"I've had more than enough for the moment." Methos isn't in the mood to bother with politeness, or even with hiding behind Adam Pierson. Part of it is the residual leftovers from Silas' quickening -- and from Kronos'. Part of it is his own fury at having been forced into making that choice. The rest of it is a combination of grief and anger that makes him want to lash out. It's why he's in New York, and staying far away from both Joe and MacLeod. Not that the latter would welcome his presence at the moment anyway. "Find somewhere else to eat your damned sandwich."

"No." Balthazar leaned back in his chair, still watching Methos. "I leave you alone, and how much of my city am I going to find laid to waste? Or just how many people am I going to find dead?" He recognizes the sort of anger and grief he sees in Methos, though at least when he was trying to cope with it, he had a target to unleash his anger on. A focus that helped the rest of the world, tracking down and destroying or trapping Morganian sorcerers while he hunted for the Prime Merlinian.

Balthazar's words hit close enough to home that Methos puts his drink down and straightens slightly in his chair. "What do you know?" he demands.

"Just what I see." Balthazar accepts his sandwich and his coke from the waitress, shrugging at Methos. "And whatever makes you scary even to a sorcerer is way too close to the surface for my comfort. You don't want company, but you need it. Before you do something stupid in my city, and I have to clean up the mess."

Methos laughs shortly and picks up his glass again. "If I were planning on mass destruction, I'd make sure there was no point in cleaning up afterward." Which might be proof that Balthazar is right, now that he thinks about it. It doesn't make him much more inclined towards company. He sighs and leans back in his seat. "I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern; it's been duly noted. You can go now."

"I'm not done my sandwich." Balthazar isn't planning on eating it quickly, as he isn't so hungry as to bolt his food. And he's not going to leave Methos alone, not yet. He doesn't really feel comfortable leaving him alone at all, but right now, once he's done with his excuse, he'll have to. Though that doesn't stop him from checking up on Methos now and again while he's in New York.

"I really don't care if you're finished or not," Methos retorts. "Go and get a pretzel if you're hungry. Find somewhere safer to eat." Methos still isn't sure whether he's planning to fight off his bad mood and go back to being Adam Pierson, or to come up with a suitable tribute for the Horsemen, but he doesn't much feel like being influenced in either direction.

"Since when have I chosen the safer of two options?" He takes a large bite of his sandwich, refusing to move. And carefully fusing the chair to the floor for the moment, in case Methos tries to push him away. Balthazar very nearly is tempted to do the same to Methos' chair to keep him from leaving himself, but refrains. He really doesn't need a scene in public that makes any of the mundane humans think magic might just exist as something more than a parlor trick. Not even one of them.

Methos glares at him for a long moment. "You have no idea what you're stirring up right now, sorcerer." He's not sure whether spilling the whole sordid story will get Balthazar to walk off in disgust, or if it will get the man to attack him, but either option appeals.

"A really grumpy man who's older than I am?" Balthazar smirks a moment before taking another bit of his sandwich. "You can be scary, but fear hasn't stopped me yet." Made him change his tactics, left him shaking in reaction later, but not stopped him.

"Maybe this time it should." Methos glares at him. "I've killed more people than even you would readily believe, and I'm having a little trouble right now remembering why I shouldn't add you to that number. I've always liked you, but this seems to be my week for killing people I've always liked." Or loved, but he's not going there, not right now.

"You can try, but it's not going to happen." Balthazar is pretty certain he can't be killed, not until he's found the Prime Merlinian, and at that point, he doesn't know if he'll care or not. He takes another bite of his sandwich, swallowing it before continuing, "And you're really not scaring me with the whole killing untold numbers of people." It's not so much the killing, as something more behind that. And a murderer really isn't as scary as someone who intends to raise the dead and control them. Not in his world.

"We spent a thousand years slaughtering everyone unfortunate enough to attract our attention." Methos is almost hoping that this will lead to the sort of fight he'd not trusted himself to have with MacLeod. He'll have to vanish afterwards, and stay gone, but he's not sure if he really cares any more. "There were four of us, and we carved a bloody enough swathe that mortals still remember us. And I killed the other three this week. Do you really want to be this close to me right now?"

"No." Balthazar doesn't really want to be too near Methos at the moment, but it's still not what's been said that's what has him worried. It's what hasn't been said. Whatever is making him uneasy still hasn't been mentioned, even if he doesn't know what it is that's always made Methos seem that bit more dangerous than any Morganian other than Morgana herself. Whatever it is that's made him utterly unafraid, in the long run, of what Morganian sorcerers can and will do to him.

"Doesn't mean I want to run away, either," he adds before taking another bite of sandwich.

"Oh, for --" Methos puts his glass down and stands up. "I'll leave, then. You can stay here and finish your bloody sandwich." He tosses a few twenties onto the table and stalks off. Now he'll have to find another bar, because he's in no mood to go back to his hotel. He's almost tempted to wander around until he finds someone to challenge, but the chance that it might end up being Connor MacLeod changes his mind. He likes Connor, most of the time.

Balthazar watches Methos leave, unfusing his chair from the floor once the Immortal is out the door. He's probably better off not following him right now. Just going back to the Arcana Cabana and continuing to wait for the Prime Merlinian. And being pestered by what he'd swear is his own personal demon of mischief, if he thought demons actually existed. Though. He smiles to himself as he finishes his sandwich, wondering how long it'll take her to show up once he's back at the shop. And what he'll have to do to get her to do him a little favor.

~ ~~ ~

"Now that was rude." Nimue glares at Balthazar from her upside-down perch on the skylight of the Arcana Cabana. The plasma bolt he'd tossed at her might not have done anything, but that never stops her from complaining at him when he aims them at her anyway. "Especially when I can't really do anything in kind."

"Rude, yes, but fun." Balthazar leans against the counter, watching her. "You're not supposed to be in here, Mischief."

She blew a raspberry at him, kicking her feet in the air like a small child. "I can be wherever I want to be." Including sprawled upside down on his ceiling like she was on the floor. He never has quite figured out how she does it, and she's never shown any willingness to tell him or teach him the trick of it.

"And why on my ceiling, this time?" He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Because I can." Nimue shrugs, rolling and doing the disconcerting thing she does where she reorients to gravity. Standing for a moment in mid-air before she flops down into a cross-legged position where she's about eye-level for him. "Because I'm bored, and you're more interesting than watching paint dry, even when you're being boring."

He'd flick something else at her if he weren't concerned for the stock in the shop. He has, when she's shown up somewhere where he isn't going to worry about delicate things being broken. Although, there may be another way to get her to stop bothering him than tossing enough spells at her to get her to leave in a huff.

"Do you know an Immortal called Methos?" Balthazar is fairly certain that if she knows him at all, she'll know his real name. Rather than just whatever alias he's using.

"Met him before, he's not nearly so much fun to annoy." Nimue waves a dismissive hand. "Why?"

"Because I need you to keep an eye on him for me." Balthazar smiles at the surprise on her face. "He's in a bad mood, you could cheer him up."

"Oh, I don't know, the man is incredibly stubborn about such things." She tilts her head to one side, cradling her chin in her hand as she leans her elbow on her knee. "But I could watch him. If you make it worth my while."

"You can hang out in the Arcana Cabana as often as you like without me trying to get rid of you." Balthazar held up his hand when her eyes lit up with glee. "If you manage to get him out of his bad mood."

"Hmph." Nimue glares at him a moment before winking out, leaving nothing but a faint sea-weedy smell in her wake.

~ ~~ ~

"You are very good at scaring little sorcerers, old friend." Nimue has her knees hooked over the top of the wall - through the wall - as she watches Methos upside down. "And making my life interesting. I hear you almost became the ultimate monster again."

Methos starts to sit up, but when he realizes just who's invaded his hotel room, he slumps back onto the bed.

"Oh. It's you." He makes a shooing gesture with one hand. "I'll tell you what I told that meddlesome bugger Balthazar -- go find something safer to do."

Nimue laughs, shaking her head. "You know you can't do anything to me, anymore than Balthazar can. Well, other than annoy me, but right now, I'm too amused to be annoyed. He was really rather rude, you know that? Bounced a plasma ball off the window right behind me. Went through my chest, the cheeky bastard."

"I'm going to be much ruder," Methos says grimly. "In more languages." He twists the cap off of a bottle of something he thinks might be tequila. At the moment, he doesn't really care. "I appreciate the thought, really, but now is not the time."

"Now is always the time, Methos." Nimue shifts, rolling and twisting to land on her feet on the floor. Walking toward the bed, and flopping onto it next to Methos. Watching him from much closer. "Past, present, future, doesn't matter. Now - or maybe the very, extremely recent past - is always important."

She tilts her head, looking down at him. "I could always slow time down, give you as long as you like to wallow in self-pity without making anyone else really wait for you to spend a couple decades - or centuries - deciding if you hate the world or just yourself."

"There's no one waiting for me." Methos knows how that sounds, but he doesn't much care. "Between the two of them, Cassandra and Kronos took care of that quite nicely." The only people who are likely to miss him are the Watchers, and after this week's events, he's going to avoid them as much as he possibly can until he finds out what they saw.

Nimue pokes him in the arm, focusing the spell enough to make sure it's felt. "Just because you think that great nit-picking hero isn't going to say boo to you doesn't mean it's the end of the world. And damnit, I'd miss you if you went and vanished on me. Track you down and whallop you over the head. Maybe take an apprentice for the sole purpose of lugging your ungrateful carcass back to my home."

Or just bother Balthazar into doing so, since he's in the same city. Though she'll have to remember to do something to keep him from remembering, if she can manage it, so he can't find his way to her cave again later.

"Oh, I know all about the end of the world." Methos drains the bottle in his hand, which turns out to be the expected tequila. "Kronos wanted us to kick it off, you know. I had to let MacLeod kill him. Now I've got three vials full of instant apocalypse to dispose of, and more of an inclination to use the stuff than I've had in a very long time." He glances over at her. "Sure you still want to hang around?"

"Sweetie, it can't kill me, and your apocalypse isn't the one I've been worried about the last thousand years and gone." Nimue reaches out to carefully card her fingers through his hair a moment. "So, not going to scare me off that easily."

Methos closes his eyes briefly, but doesn't quite let himself lean into her touch. "I should scare you. I should have scared Balthazar, too, but apparently none of you people have any sense." He opens his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. "It worked on MacLeod. Too well. He can't grasp that a few thousand years might change a person. And why should he? It didn't change Kronos, or Caspian, or Silas."

Nimue leans down to kiss his forehead. "Because they didn't want to change. You're far more human than they were, far more adaptable." She keeps combing her fingers through his hair, gentle and light. "And sorcerers aren't known for having sense. We're known for having enough power to set ourselves up as small gods, and a good half of us have the ego to do just that."

"Being a god is overrated." The next bottle is scotch. Methos is very glad that Immortals don't get hung-over. "And dangerous. I should know." He closes his eyes again. "It's just so tempting sometimes, even now. Mortals can be so stupid, and the thought of correcting them --" He stops. "If I thought it wouldn't all end in disaster, I'd have done it already," he adds after a moment.

"Then perhaps it's good I've not had the temptation to set myself up as a goddess. Even if sometimes they conflate me with one." Nimue made a face. "That's history for you." She strokes her fingertips across his forehead. "And if you ever do give into the desire to set yourself up as a god, I promise I'll send someone to bash you over the head with a rock and drag your carcass back to my little place." She smiles down at him. "If that makes you feel any better."

"Not really," Methos admits. "I'd probably see them coming." He cracks one eye open and looks at her. "Balthazar really sent you to find me? What did he have to promise to get you to do that?" He likes Nimue, but he knows better than to ask her for a favor.

"Oh, only that he'll never be able to get rid of me again. At least, not from his shop." Nimue's smile brightens, a hint of mischief gleaming in her eyes. "And honestly, I probably would have come to find you sooner or later, after watching that fiasco." She watches the world, and never has to leave her sanctum. There are times when she almost regrets sealing herself in like that. "I almost came to find you in person."

"In person?" Methos pulls away from her and props himself up on one elbow. "That is a surprise. I didn't think anything would ever pry you out of that cave of yours." He smirks. The expression's rather hollow, but it's better than nothing. "Then again, you're still there, so maybe nothing will."

Nimue scowls, and reaches out a fist to thump him on the head with. "You were there just before I did that, and you bloody well ought to remember what I said about coming out. Your memory isn't that awful."

That Morgana and Merlin had to have finished up with their little feud, one way or another. And that hadn't happened yet, not with Morgana sealed up in a grimhold, and Merlin's remaining apprentice searching for some near-mythical heir to Merlin.

"And no matter how fond I am of you, I can't do you any good if someone's trying to kill me simply because they think I'm on one side or another of the whole tiff."

"Balthazar's still fighting the good fight, then?" Methos rubs the top of his head. "I should introduce him to MacLeod." They'd either get along splendidly or take an instant dislike to one another, and Methos would be able to consider himself well-revenged on both of them.

"Still on his Quest, with the intent of destroying Morgana in the end." Nimue shrugs, rolling to sprawl on her back, watching Methos out of the corner of her eye. "Though call it the good fight again, and I'll tell Balthazar where to find you. Neither philosophy is truly good or evil, just very different in their approaches. Both of them think they're doing what's right, though. Idiots."

"They're young." Methos shrugs, and lets himself flop back down next to Nimue onto the bed. "Like MacLeod. Someday they'll learn that there really are precious few absolutes in life. Or they won't, and then someone will die. That's the way it always happens." He closes his eyes. "Hopefully, whoever it is won't take too many bystanders with them."

"The only absolute is that very nearly everything dies. No matter how well protected from age or death." Very nearly, because Nimue had her doubts about anyone truly being able to take out Methos without serious luck. And even then, she's not entirely confident of that. She rolls to cuddle up to Methos, almost solid against him. "Everything else is mutable."

"Mm. Death as the world's one constant. I'm not sure if I like that or not." He lets himself lean into her, just a little bit. "I suppose it's a matter of perspective. But I'm forgetting my manners. Would you like a drink? Are you present enough for that, at least?"

Nimue shrugs, shaking her head. "Almost fourteen centuries, and I still haven't worked out how to be able to partake of food or drink while projecting elsewhere. It's really inconvenient." She's been able to figure out how to do a number of other things with this system of hers, but using magic and consuming things not present at her cave are two things she still can't manage. Perhaps will never manage.

"Oh, well." Methos opens a bottle for himself. "You're not missing much, not in this case, anyway." He sighs. "Sometimes I'm more than a little tempted to find a cave of my own. Then I remember how antsy I get after a few decades on holy ground and change my mind."

Chuckling, Nimue reaches over to cup his cheek in her hand a moment before slowly drawing her hand away, and resting it on his chest. "You'd be out of your mind if you'd shut yourself up like I have, with only this insubstantial form to interact with the world." Sometimes she wondered if she weren't out of her mind, herself.

"Probably," Methos admits, putting a hand over hers. "Though at times like this, I can see the attraction of it more clearly than usual. Still, I don't know how you can stand it for as long as you have."

"Sometimes, by reminding myself that the risks of getting killed override the risks of going out of my mind with boredom." Nimue smiles at his hand over hers. "Sometimes by making other sorcerers miserable and earning myself new nicknames. And sometimes I just. Wonder if I really have just gone round the bend."


End file.
